It's all relative...

A quick update on me, and then a story. I am going to Emory on Wednesday morning for a third and final opinion on diagnosis and treatment. I don't expect anything too new, but am willing to seek treatment there if they impress us. I am told we have 16 viles in cryogenic storage. So unless Candace wants 17 babies, we should have enough to work with. I say that in jest because there is no guarantee that fertility procedures would even work, but at least we have options there (we think). And finally, in order to make sure my heart is healthy enough to withstand the chemo, I am getting an EKG on Thursday. I would start chemo at the end of this week, or early next week... as planned.

On my next entry, I'll tell you a little more about one of the chemo drugs in particular that really gives me the jitters, as well as some amazing acts of love from my friends. Now, on to the story...

I had dinner tonight with a new friend at one of my favorite local restaurants. He and I are both 'corporate' people, which meant we had enough in common that could go unspoken and leave room for more meaningful discussion. This was the first time we've sat down with one another, which offered a first-time glimpse into each other's lives. What I learned has given me great inspiration.

He has a brother who lived his entire life perfectly healthy until a massive seizure his freshman year of college (1992) revealed a very large brain tumor. After three major brain surgeries and some radiation, things looked promising. Thirteen years later in 2005, after he had been living life as a normal young man, another seizure came which again revealed the reemergence of yet another large tumor in his brain. The best medical minds in the country offered only two options: risk serious infection and death via another operation which would only temporarily relieve the problem; or, do nothing and live no more than a number of months. He chose the latter option, yet is still alive today. He is able to play his guitar and take trips and spend time with his family. This young man is truly living.

Unfortunately, my friend never knows when 'the call' may come, telling him that his brother let go, but he takes comfort in (a) that his brother is continuing to live a normal life one day at a time and (b) that his brother has a relationship with the Lord and knows where life leads us when it ends. My situation looks very simple and manageable in light of his. I am inspired by his perseverance and will to live, even if in stark defiance of all medical odds. I only hope I have the courage to do the same, should I bet met with that same crossroad.

"You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." [James 4:14] I tend to react to statements like this with a "yeah, yeah -- I know", but hearing the stories of the present sufferings of others, and even being faced with more uncertainty in my own life than ever before, is widening the door into the place where I know the truth of those words. Tomorrow... if it comes, is a gift, indeed.